Becoming a Real Boy
by PointsLeft
Summary: Kankuro the Puppet Master begins a mission, a journey, like none he's ever taken before. Across the world, against the strange and terrible, Kankuro has no idea what he's in for when the Kazekage appears at his door. Alternate Universe.


_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._

Isolated rain drops fell noisily into the pots and pans around the workshop. Some fell directly from ceiling to pot. Others, those that would otherwise fall onto the work benches or wall-mounted lanterns, were diverted to their final resting places by large pieces of hung fabric. The wood and metal that littered the small, candle-lit room were required to be dry. Even the tiniest warping of the wood or the littlest speck of rust on the metal could be catastrophic to construction. And out here, these materials were hard to come by.

_Plunk. Plunk. Thunk. Plunk. Plunk. Thunk._

Seated at one particularly large work bench, the one farthest from the door, was a short, stocky, teenage boy. He kept his hair short, bristly; long hair got in the way of his work. A black jumpsuit covered him from neck to ankle; gray socks and work gloves on his feet and hands.

_Plunk. Plunk. Thunk. Plunk. Plunk. Thunk._

Each hammer blow was made with surgical precision. He worked slowly, making sure to never miss by even a milimeter. The nail worked slowly into the length of wood. The artisan placed his hammer back on the rack above him, the fourth largest hammer, in order. He ran his hand under the table, feeling the small metal rungs. He pulled a screwdriver from its resting place. The artisan slipped off his stool. He worked his way around littered parts, scrap materials, pots and pans, and stopped in front of a shelf of small boxes. He knew what he wanted, took the box directly from its place without needing to search.

_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. _

The artisan sat back down at his bench. He pulled the wood close together, and placed an arc of metal over them. He inserted a single screw into a hole in the metal, and began to turn slowly.

The door opened.

"Kankuro?" A woman's voice. Not soft, stern, but caring. Maternal. Temari.

"Whaddya want?" Kankuro returned. He barely registered that he had spoken, so focused was he on his work.

"Dinner's about ready." The sternness in Temari's voice increased. "You are not skipping it again tonight. We're eating together. All of us."

"Give me two minutes," Kankuro replied. "This is delicate."

The room felt colder all of a sudden. That meant Temari was glaring at him.

"Two."

The door closed. Kankuro shuddered.

"I skip dinner," Kankuro began, muttering low. He finished off the screws and raised his creation up. The puppet, his work, grinned back at him. Kankuro tested the joint. It was solid. "I skip dinner _because_ we'd all be there."

-------------------------

It was green. Sort of. Maybe kind of a reddish-green. A little purple. And it sat in a blob on his plate. Kankuro felt that nothing served on a plate should ever be able to be described as a blob. His cheek scrunched into his palm as he poked the strange, congealed entity with a chopstick.

"Elbows off the table," Temari said. Kankuro grudgingly oblidged.

Temari and Kankuro were siblings. It was not an easy thing to believe; the two were nothing alike in look, thought, or deed. Temari was tall, she had long legs, she was thin. Her face was more pointed, compared to Kankuro's large, round head. Temari's hair was blond and straight, and she kept it tied back into four short pigtails. It was unanimously agreed by the village that she may well be the only person in the world who could look good with that hairstyle.

Also unlike Kankuro, Temari kept kept things clean. The kitchen they sat in, run down as it was, was spotless. Even the cracks in the old wooden table seemed to sparkle. Kankuro felt that the seeming cleanness of the adobe walls was unnatural, but it was not something he brought up.

There was a third seated at the table, and though he barely spoke, his presence was always known. The youngest sibling, the adolscent boy with the pasty white skin and the burning red hair, whose intense eyes were never eclipsed by the ever-present marks of sleeplessness. Gaara, Kankuro and Temari's kid brother, remained silent and motionless, staring coldly at the slop before him.

"Have some cabbage, Gaara." Temari said. She sounded motherly, but Kankuro could tell she was reserved. Gaara's eyes swung leftward, staring straight through his sister. Kankuro caught the twitch she made, the nearly invisble sign that she was terrified. She spooned some more glop onto his plate.

Kankuro would have liked to make a crack then. He would have loved to cock one eyebrow at Temari, point at his plate and ask "Is _that_ what this is?" But with Gaara a mere two feet from him- with Gaara _in the room_- he remained silent. He was terrified as well.

Gaara's gaze returned to the cabbage. A silence followed as Gaara and Kankuro stared into their plates, and Temari ate slowly. Kankuro prodded Temari's creation a bit more. He wanted to be back in his workshop; Crow, his favorite puppet, needed a few short tests before he could be sure the joint had been fixed properly. Rain slid down the kitchen window. Temari chewed her cabbage. Kankuro prodded his still.

Gaara lifted his hand towards his chest. Kankuro stiffened, and he almost felt Temari do the same. Sand erupted around the youngest sibling, a cyclone of dirt and grit that whipped the food from the table. Kankuro and Temari leapt to their feet, knocking over their chairs in the process, terrified. Kankuro felt vulnerable alone. Terror gripped him, made his feet lead and his mind numb. There was no way to defend himself. Was this it?

Just as the sandstorm reached a peak, it stopped. The sand dissappeared, and so did Gaara. All was silent, save for the plodding of the rain on the roof and the windows. Kankuro did not dare let himself breath a sigh of relief. Temari slammed her fist down on the table. She swore loudly. Kankuro glanced at her. He wondered if he should do something to help her, make her feel better. No, he thought. Anything he did would just make it worse. He turned to return to his workshop.

"You leaving too?" Temari asked, clearly choking back her tears.

"Yeah," Kankuro said. "Stuff to do."

"Fine!" She cried as he made his way down the hall. "Just leave! Go on! All of you just get out of here!"

-----------------

_Knock._

Only once. Temari and Kankuro shot each other worried glances. The one knock signaled his arrival; the coming of the only man who they feared above any others. Kankuro leaned forward in his chair. Temari pushed her breakfast aside and moved towards the door. She lifted her hand, hesitated for a moment, and turned the knob.

The sun shown in through the open door, forcing the visitor into sillohuette. Kankuro knew who it was.

"H-Honorable Kazekage," Temari stuttered. She dropped her head low and retreated to the side of the doorway. "Welcome."

The Kazekage entered. He was an old man, a frail creature. It was easy to see, even with his white robes obscuring his frame. But the old man carried himself like he was in his prime, and as a political leader, he was. This was the most powerful man in the entire nation.

The Kazekage surveyed the tiny kitchen, analyzed it. He picked out its faults as he went along, the imperfections, the degeneration. He was impassive as he moved forward to take Temari's chair from the table. Kankuro kept his eyes locked on the Kazekage the entire time. It had been only seconds, but the enternity of hell was spending time anywhere near this man.

Their gaze met. Kankuro reflexively looked away, and instantly regretted it. He couldn't handle the smoldering hatred in his father's eyes.

The old man sat down across from Kankuro. Temari didn't dare express her anger, even when he was looking away. She stayed by the door. She pretended to see something interesting on the floor.

"Kankuro," began the Kazekage.

"How _dare you!_" Temari exploded. Her head snapped up in rage, all of her mental focus on the man before her. "How _dare you_ show yourself here! You know what you've done to us! What you've done to Gaara!"

The Kazekage did not move. His eyes were closed. Kankuro stiffened. His eyes shot between Temari and the Kazekage. Kankuro couldn't read the old man's body language.

Temari had been advancing without realizing it. "Everyone in the village has suffered because of you! The taxes! The wars! Budget cuts, mission outsourcing- But us! Your own children!"

"Temari-" Kankuro began.

"There's no word to describe how awful you are!" Temari continued, ignoring Kankuro. "You _took my brother's life away_. You took _all_ of our lives away!"

"Temari!" Kankuro shouted. Temari fumed and gritted her teeth. Her rage was still palpable.

Kankuro took a deep breath. He couldn't show weakness, so he swallowed his fear and narrowed his eyes on the Kazekage. "_Why_ are you _here_?"

The Kazekage remained silent. He did not move, did not open his eyes. Is he dead? Kankuro mused.

"_Well_?"

The old man slowly opened his eyes. Kankuro braced himself.

There was no hatred in the Kazekage's face. No smoldering fury, nor hatred. The switch was so sudden that Kankuro's guard fell. He looked almost... mournful. And when those mournful, old eyes rolled up to meet Kankuro's, he spoke.

"How would you like to help give Gaara a normal life?"

_[A/N: So that's it for the Prologue of this idea I had. It's a bit more dramatic than I normally like, but I've a few lighter scenes planned. Also, I plan on exploring a lot of the sorta vague stuff in this prologue as the story continues. Plus! Twists! This story does not take place in the main Naruto universe, so expect some things to be quite different. Thank you for your time.]_


End file.
